


running on empty

by passionatelyjupiter



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angels, Angels and Demons, Anorexia, Demons, Eating Disorder, Heaven, Heaven and Hell, Hell, Self Harm, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, honestly this is shit, horrible poetry, i swear not the entire thing is depressing, suicidal, take my laptop away, this is so bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:07:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passionatelyjupiter/pseuds/passionatelyjupiter
Summary: a series of different poetry works in which random ramblings are arranged into stanzas.





	1. i'm no angel

**Author's Note:**

> tw for suicidal intentions, self harm, and eating disorders.

he called me an angel

i don’t think he knows

just how wrong he is

 

i don’t think he knows why i disagree:

if suicide’s a sin,

then soon hell’s a place i’ll surely be in.

 

sin, sin, sin.

tattoos, piercings, haircuts

suicide, starving, i swear i’m not a slut

self harm, homosexuality

that precious sensuality

so much sin.

 

sin, sin, sin.

dyed hair, wrath

‘those shorts show too much of your ass.’

jealousy, hunger,

illogical anger

so much sin.

 

sin, sin, sin.

'stop that damn moping,'

but momma, if i had none, how can i keep hoping?

gluttony, greed

starving, skinny’s what i need.

so much sin.

 

glimmering golden halos and fluffy ivory wings,

of divine optimism and heavenly virtues they sing.

 

glinting gore-stained talons and foul-scented pants,

of exhilarating fear and pleasureful death they chant.

 

angelic means pure,

demure.

fluffy wings in ivory,

rose-tinted memories.

solid optimism,

never-doubted theism.

singing in the choir,

of everyone i am sure.

this steady faith,

banish the wraith.

 

angelic means beautiful,

innocent, 

singing harps

and shimmery halos.

angelic is shades of ivory,

and gold,

and rose,

and baby blue.

angelic means doing what is right,

not what is easy.

angelic is unfulfilling.

angelic is not me.

 

demonic means nefarious,

punishment is various.

to a lord we are devoted,

so down the styx we boated.

pessimism and pagans,

we’ll never leave again.

the unknown is terrifying,

that’s why we’re verifying.

it’s hidden in everything you wanted,

never are they daunted.

 

demonic means gorgeous,

adulterated,

hidden fear

and indulgent beauty.

demonic is shades of ink-black,

and fire-orange,

and crimson,

and electric turquoise.

demonic means doing what feels good,

not what other people want.

demonic is productive.

demonic is closer to my identity.

 

he called me an angel

i hope he remains, for his sake,

in this precious, ignorant bliss.


	2. red velvet cupcakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for this chapter: self harm (!!), eating disorders, suicidal ideation  
> disclaimer: i am not romanticizing self harm or any of the other topics mentioned in this chapter in any way, shape, or form!! the phrasing is merely for the sake of poetry, don't get your panties in a bunch.

damn it, i should be happy.

i should be happy - it’s summer, which means no school; i’ve done some wonderful things recently, such as going to camp, one of which where people actually called me by the correct name - it seems there should be nothing wrong in my life. there’s no problems with my life from the exterior - i’m not fighting with my parents, i’m out of school, and i’m always smiling and laughing, but the problem is:

those smiles are fake. 

my life may have no problems, but i, however, am falling apart. 

i’ve started to not be able to sleep until the late hours of the night, my eyes are always rimmed with a circle of smudged black kohl, my stomach has started to growl again, showers have started to sting, and, once again, i’ve started to dream of death.

i thought i had gotten rid of those thoughts for good. i thought i was finally okay, that i was finally happy. but to no fucking avail.

i’m a fucking suicidal, bloody, starving goddamn mess and there’s nothing i or anyone else can do about it, and nobody has a clue. 

and just as i thought, it’s comforting. i missed this, and as much as i liked being happy and healthy, this feels more natural, more normal.

i used to have an obsession with cupcakes, but i coincidentally am terrified of the like now. instead, i now have an obsession with something much more abysmally messed up - the red, velvet sheen of my own blood against a blade. 

coincidentally, it’s the exact shade of my beloved red velvet cupcakes.


End file.
